UNTITLED

electronica, glitch, experimental, leftfield techno, soundtrack, spoken word

[Intro – spoken word, clinique] This piece has no name. The file is corrupted, the folder mislabeled, the archive incomplete. Good. Titles are leashes. Let’s see what a human does when even the label “human” starts to flicker.
[PART I – 404 ID NOT FOUND] Screen black, cursor blinking like a tiny metronome of panic. Who are you without your job title, without your desire script, without your couple cosplay?
I hear the system looping: Name. Role. Function. Gender. Output. Brand. But tonight the form field stays empty. Untitled. Sans légende. Unbenannt.
I walk through Berlin with no story on my back, just steps, just breath, just this weird permission to not know who the fuck I am becoming.
[REFRAIN MANTRA 1] Untitled. But not empty. Just not wrapped. Just not optimized for comprehension speed.
[PART II – GLITCH ROOM] The glitch is not a bug, it’s a message. Every stutter in the track, every drop in the Wi-Fi, every failed seduction, is the code saying: “This path is deprecated.”
Je regarde mes anciennes versions défiler comme des skins dans un mauvais jeu vidéo. The hustler. Le bon gars. Der geile Typ. The woke oracle. Delete, delete, delete. Non, mieux: Archive. Let them exist without commanding.
Cada máscara vira ruído de fundo, background noise, while a new signal, faint but obstinate, starts to pulse beneath.
[REFRAIN MANTRA 2] Untitled. Between collapse and click. Not a breakdown, a firmware update with no patch notes.
[PART III – DEBUG BODY] The doctor doesn’t know. The coach doesn’t know. The algorithm doesn’t know. Only the body has logs.
Mon ventre sait quand je mens. Ma gorge sait quand je fuis. Meu peito sabe quando eu traio minha própria alegria. My spine knows when I bow to a dead god.
So I sit in this leftfield techno of the soul, no drop, no payoff, just long, slow diagnostics.
What do I do when no one is watching? Who do I hurt when I panic? Where do I hide when I succeed?
Ich geh durch diese Fragen wie durch einen leeren Club vor Öffnung, Licht néon, Kabel au sol, Bass encore silencieux, mais tout est prêt.
[SECTION RYTHMÉE – à scander sur glitch / percus sèches] No title. No script. Just breath, just crypt. Old labels peel, new nerves grow, Untitled is where I start to know.
No hashtag. No role. Just heart, just hole. Le vide au centre n’est pas la fin, c’est l’espace pour un vrai chemin.
[PART IV – LITTLE QUANTUM DOOR] In this soundtrack of not-knowing I stop auditioning for my own life. I don’t chase the “right version” of me. I host the swarm.
Maybe I am father and lover and coward and prophet, all at once, all half-baked, all in beta.
Maybe Ecce Homo was never “look how great I am”, but “look how in-progress I dare to be in public.”
[REFRAIN MANTRA 3 – plus lumineux] Untitled. But online. No marketing copy. Just raw signal.
Untitled. But alive. If there is a revolution, it starts here: in the courage to not summarize yourself.
[Outro – très court] This track has no title. You hear it anyway. This life has no final concept. You live it anyway. Glitch accepted. Process continues.

3054/7500

[Intro – spoken word, clinique] This piece has no name. The file is corrupted, the folder mislabeled, the archive incomplete. Good. Titles are leashes. Let’s see what a human does when even the label “human” starts to flicker. [PART I – 404 ID NOT FOUND] Screen black, cursor blinking like a tiny metronome of panic. Who are you without your job title, without your desire script, without your couple cosplay? I hear the system looping: Name. Role. Function. Gender. Output. Brand. But tonight the form field stays empty. Untitled. Sans légende. Unbenannt. I walk through Berlin with no story on my back, just steps, just breath, just this weird permission to not know who the fuck I am becoming. [REFRAIN MANTRA 1] Untitled. But not empty. Just not wrapped. Just not optimized for comprehension speed. [PART II – GLITCH ROOM] The glitch is not a bug, it’s a message. Every stutter in the track, every drop in the Wi-Fi, every failed seduction, is the code saying: “This path is deprecated.” Je regarde mes anciennes versions défiler comme des skins dans un mauvais jeu vidéo. The hustler. Le bon gars. Der geile Typ. The woke oracle. Delete, delete, delete. Non, mieux: Archive. Let them exist without commanding. Cada máscara vira ruído de fundo, background noise, while a new signal, faint but obstinate, starts to pulse beneath. [REFRAIN MANTRA 2] Untitled. Between collapse and click. Not a breakdown, a firmware update with no patch notes. [PART III – DEBUG BODY] The doctor doesn’t know. The coach doesn’t know. The algorithm doesn’t know. Only the body has logs. Mon ventre sait quand je mens. Ma gorge sait quand je fuis. Meu peito sabe quando eu traio minha própria alegria. My spine knows when I bow to a dead god. So I sit in this leftfield techno of the soul, no drop, no payoff, just long, slow diagnostics. What do I do when no one is watching? Who do I hurt when I panic? Where do I hide when I succeed? Ich geh durch diese Fragen wie durch einen leeren Club vor Öffnung, Licht néon, Kabel au sol, Bass encore silencieux, mais tout est prêt. [SECTION RYTHMÉE – à scander sur glitch / percus sèches] No title. No script. Just breath, just crypt. Old labels peel, new nerves grow, Untitled is where I start to know. No hashtag. No role. Just heart, just hole. Le vide au centre n’est pas la fin, c’est l’espace pour un vrai chemin. [PART IV – LITTLE QUANTUM DOOR] In this soundtrack of not-knowing I stop auditioning for my own life. I don’t chase the “right version” of me. I host the swarm. Maybe I am father and lover and coward and prophet, all at once, all half-baked, all in beta. Maybe Ecce Homo was never “look how great I am”, but “look how in-progress I dare to be in public.” [REFRAIN MANTRA 3 – plus lumineux] Untitled. But online. No marketing copy. Just raw signal. Untitled. But alive. If there is a revolution, it starts here: in the courage to not summarize yourself. [Outro – très court] This track has no title. You hear it anyway. This life has no final concept. You live it anyway. Glitch accepted. Process continues.

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